


Commissions: Open

by leporidae



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conventions, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: “Hi,” Ingrid says cheerfully, and it takes Sylvain a moment to realize she has begun talking to the artist at the booth and isn't addressing him. “Do you mind if I flip through your art?”
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Commissions: Open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyakunana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyakunana/gifts).



> Based on a stupid conversation I had with [Polux](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts) back when we first talked in December or so. 
> 
> Also happy birthday buddy, congrats on living another year to spread the good word of sylnatz. This year has been hard on everyone, I hope this goofy fic gives you a laugh in hard times. Thanks for making my year better too by chatting with me ✨

“Sylvain, can you hold my bag for a moment? I want to flip through this guy’s art — actually, it says he’s doing commissions, I may ask him about his prices…”

Sylvain feigns a sigh and holds out one hand. Ingrid passes him the oversized bag, emblazoned with _FodlanCon!_ in bold red letters over a picture of a sparkly-eyed, green-haired anime girl with dragon wings. Once empty when the convention had started, it is now full almost to the brim with prints and merchandise she had accumulated walking through Artist Alley. 

Sylvain is here to keep Ingrid company and validate her questionable art purchases (featuring mostly half-naked warrior women) but admittedly coming to an anime convention is out of his element. It’s also harder to justify hitting on women here when there’s signs reminding him that _cosplay is not consent_ at every turn. Regrettably, it's impossible — in good conscience — to have a conversation over alcoholic beverages at a venue with kids where the only food vendors are selling overpriced pizza and crepes. And what would he even talk to them about, for that matter? Most of his knowledge of anime comes from what his friends have forced him to sit down and watch with them.

He sighs. “Have you seen Felix? I lost track of him back at a weapons booth a few isles back.”

Ingrid shrugs. “He’s probably still back there. I heard him talking with one of the vendors — he was starting on one of his typical ‘these weapons aren’t historically accurate or practical’ rants, and I figured that was my cue to get out of there before the guy called over a volunteer and got all three of us kicked out.”

“Sounds like Felix all right," Sylvain says with a laugh. "Okay, art first. We’ll collect him later — if he hasn’t been exiled by then.”

With a nod, she takes Sylvain by the arm and tugs him off to the side of the crowd. “Hi,” Ingrid says cheerfully, and it takes Sylvain a moment to realize she has begun talking to the artist at the booth and isn't addressing him. “Do you mind if I flip through your art?”

“No, go ahead,” comes the surprisingly quiet voice in response, and Sylvain peers closer at the seller. Weren’t people at anime conventions supposed to be outcast oddballs brimming with socially-unacceptable confidence? And yet the young man hiding behind round glasses and glancing away nervously as Ingrid peruses his art comes across as anything but confident. 

Sylvain watches over Ingrid’s shoulder as she looks through the portfolio. Most of the art featured is original watercolor pieces of animals and landscapes — and they're quite beautiful, actually — but he spies a few pieces of fanart of Ghibli movies sprinkled into the mix. Last semester Annette and Mercedes had dragged him into attending quite a few of their Ghibli-themed movie nights; now Sylvain has _My Neighbor Totoro, Ponyo,_ and _Kiki’s Delivery Service_ as part of his movie repertoire.

The guy selling art actually looks a bit like the boy from _Kiki’s Delivery Service,_ Sylvain thinks, and he chuckles without thinking. Unexpectedly, the nervous artist hears him and looks up. “Oh, um—”

“Your art’s amazing,” Sylvain assures him quickly before the young man can misconstrue his laughter as mockery. 

“O-oh,” he says with a nervous smile. “Thanks, really. This is my first time tabling. There’s so many amazing artists here… it’s quite intimidating. So that’s nice to hear.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Honestly, most of them couldn't even hold a candle to you. These backgrounds especially, they’re incredible. There’s something kind of… magical about them. Like they could be real, or I could have seen them in a dream I had when I was a child.” Suddenly the absurdity of his words washes over him, and he coughs. “That sounded silly, sorry.”

The artist is staring up at him with slowly reddening cheeks. “No, um… I don’t know what to say. That’s just — that’s such an incredibly nice thing to say. I won’t forget it. Honestly, it’s meeting people like you that makes all the stress of big crowds worth it in the end.”

_People like me? If only you really knew what kind of person you were heralding as a saint._ Before Sylvain can choke out an embarrassed reply, Ingrid speaks up, reminding him of their purpose here. “Sorry to cut in, but I wanted to ask you about your commissions. I’ve been looking for an artist to draw my character from a campaign, and if you’re still open, I’d love to get one from you. Your art kind of has that quality, like…” Not much of an art connoisseur, she glances to Sylvain for help, clearly unable to find the words to describe what she’s feeling.

“It’s got kind of an epic quality,” Sylvain supplies helpfully. “Like a historic scene from a past battle or famous moment, but with a modern spin on it. And your character’s a warrior, right?” Sylvain knows this because he has been dragged, semi-reluctantly, into Felix and Ingrid’s roleplaying as of late. (His own character has the highest charm stat of their party and frequently weasels information out of unsuspecting women in taverns, to the surprise of no one.) 

“Epic?” the young man echoes. “Gosh, I don’t know about that…”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No, no — Sylvain’s right, I think you’d be a perfect fit.”

He blushes. “Yes, well… if you’re sure, I am open for commissions. So, about this character of yours…”

While Ingrid launches into describing her half-dressed warrior princess with a tragic backstory in excruciating detail, Sylvain watches the artist’s face: how his brow furrows in concentration when Ingrid describes how she imagines her character's facial features; how he takes notes off to the side as Ingrid talks, even furiously sketching some preliminary poses while listening; how he flushes when Ingrid insists her character have her abs and legs exposed (“to show off how fit she is,” Ingrid argues, even though Sylvain knows the _real_ reason behind the design choices). 

As they settle the last details of the commission, Sylvain’s gaze falls upon the open pages of the artist’s portfolio. One of the pieces displayed there is not fanart, but rather a watercolor painting of rolling hills, softly illuminated by the setting sun. One lone silhouette stands against the horizon, not much more than a smudge in the distance, but the scene makes Sylvain feel nostalgic in a way he can’t quite describe. “How much for the original painting?”

“Huh?” The artist has just finished writing down Ingrid’s contact information, and he jumps, looking up to face Sylvain. “Oh, um… that one’s thirty dollars. But you don’t have to buy something just because she did.”

Sylvain laughs. “That’s no way to run a business,” he teases. “Discouraging your customers from buying from you? But no, I’m asking because I’m interested in your art. It has nothing to do with my friend. Say, you had some Ghibli prints in here too, right?”

He nods slowly. “Yes, the medium-sized prints are ten dollars each…”

“Can I get one of Ponyo and Kiki each? I have a couple friends who couldn’t make it today who would really love them.” He pauses. “Oh, and the original, for myself.”

Adjusting his glasses nervously, the artist nods again, seemingly unable to believe that anyone would actually want to buy his art. It makes Sylvain a bit sad to watch. “Those three together… comes out to fifty dollars,” he says, fidgeting as though guilty about asking for payment at all. “Do you need a bag?”

“I’ll share hers,” Sylvain says, nudging Ingrid with one shoulder. “If that’s all right.”

“Well, you’re the one who has to carry it,” Ingrid says dryly. “Be my guest.”

As the young man carefully slips the painting and his prints into a protective plastic bag, Sylvain takes that moment to swipe a business card off his table. “Your art is incredible, Ignatz,” he says, addressing the name printed on the card. “Consider me a fan.”

“Thank you,” Ignatz squeaks. He looks as though he wants to vanish from existence.

Normally Sylvain would take this moment to tease the poor sap, but instead he just gives Ignatz a reassuring smile as he hands over the money. “You should believe in your skills more,” he says. “Oh, and —” He leans across the table to whisper, “sorry about my friend’s commission. Your art is too tasteful to deserve her... _sensibilities._ ”

This time, Ignatz laughs. “It’s all right. If it makes her happy, I’m happy.” Blinking, he peers at the stack of bills Sylvain handed over. “Um, it comes out to fifty, not seventy…”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Nah, it's a tip. Don’t question it, okay?”

As Ignatz opens his mouth to protest, Ingrid shouts at Sylvain from across the hall. “Sylvain! Come take a picture of me with this cosplayer!”

He sighs. “Duty calls.” With one last wink at Ignatz, he heads to where Ingrid is bouncing excitedly next to a (predictably) scantily-clad woman in fantasy armor and heavy makeup.

“Um, thank you again!” Ignatz calls after him, surprising Sylvain with the volume of his voice. "...Sylvain!"

It pains him to have to leave when he has so many questions for Ignatz about his art, and so many more admiring comments to make, but tucked away in Sylvain’s pocket is Ignatz’s business card with an email contact.

It’s not quite a phone number scribbled on a receipt at a bar, as per his usual strategy — but it’ll do. 


End file.
